Blah blah 2011 blah. I'm waiting for the wonderful web designers who created my current site to transform it into a Girlbomb group blog, something I've been nattering about since the summer but have not yet executed due to: severe tendonitis in both arms, emotional stumble into depression, exhaustion as a side effect of anti-depressants, and to be fair a certain amount of laziness and indolence, on top of Certain Interpersonal Communication Issues ("CICI") between me and people who are not me, which group seems to be comprised of the whole lot of you. Anyway, the relaunch is officially imminent, to coincide with the fifth anniversary of Girlbomb's publication, for which I'm having a big reading/party at Bowery Poetry Club on March 11, and I'm excited to expand the online empire, as soon as I get around to doing everything I need to do on my end to make it happen (note to self: get on that).
I don't know what to tell you. I've been practicing meditation since the new year, though I can only go for maybe three-quarters of a full breath before I interrupt myself with some completely superficial train of thought, and I can only keep trying for five or six minutes at a time before I surrender to the tyranny of my brain's chatter. But I've decided that I'm going to keep trying, because it's not making things worse. I know that part of the relief I've felt from anger and anxiety is due to the meds, but I'd like to believe some of it is due to, like, pseudo-Buddhist meditation.
Wellbutrin makes my gums taste bad. But you know what makes them taste good? Surrender. Reading this book about metta meditation; it says you can't control anything, and life's not fair, and the sooner you accept this, the happier you will be. Life sucks and then you die, and nobody should have ever promised you otherwise, but in the meantime, you can think of the things you would really like -- May I have physical happiness, may I have mental happiness, may I live free of danger, may I love my life -- then move on to direct those thoughts at other people, a close friend, a neutral acquaintance, then a person you dislike, then all beings, at which point you are a total master of your emotions and nothing can knock you off your square, even if you aren't on meds. I'm building up to all that. I have a hard time starting with myself; I'm always tempted to jump ahead to "all beings" or "a close friend." But I am going back to the beginning, and when I can meditate on the first phrase for longer than half a full inhale, I will consider myself almost ready to move on to the second.
Bush-wah. Girlbomb sells out, goes all organic-white-linen-sheaths and chunky natural rock necklaces that weigh a ton, a Stonehenge of jewelry. The red hair whites and frizzes as she sits in full lotus in a time-lapse montage of a sunbeam shifting position from one part of the wall over her shoulder to the other. Or she stays "punk," which at her stage of life is...a little Hot Topic. A little Fluevogs-and-Liz-Phair. It's a little bit too pigtails for 40 plus. No, I'm already okay with nagging my friends to do what I do and eat real oatmeal for breakfast every morning because it lowered my cholesterol and provides a lot of fiber; I am only weeks away from doing water aerobics and taking Boniva. All I need to do is go to Pier One and get a standing waterfall sculpture. and I can start modeling for the covers of tri-fold bank flyers about your "investment options."
What? Yeah, I don't know either. I just wanted to say hello, thanks for reading and commenting while I was away. I'm back and if you're reading this then you are here too, and welcome, or welcome back. With any luck, there's more to come.